


Redemption.

by 1967_chevy_impala_called_roscoe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Guilt, Gun Violence, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25418809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1967_chevy_impala_called_roscoe/pseuds/1967_chevy_impala_called_roscoe
Summary: When the unthinkable happens, Stiles is there to help you.
Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Reader
Kudos: 15





	Redemption.

When you think about the decision to kill someone, to take a life, you often think it’ll be easy. Shoot the bad guy, feel no remorse - after all he’s the bad guy. But it’s a lot different than that.

The decision to squeeze that trigger does not fall onto your shoulders; it falls onto the weight of the moment, all the adrenaline, the fear. And before you know it, a bang is resounding in the air, and the gun bucking against your quivering hands. You never made the decision. You were never in control. Your body was; no other part of you, body or soul, is ever present in the moment.

No, they seem to always make an appearance in the split second after it all happens. Then, the weight of the action falls on your shoulders, and the guilt can be seen in the lacerations of grief across your face. Because after all, there are no bad guys. There are only shades of grey - no person is entirely innocent or entirely guilty. And the sentence for your crimes is the crushing remorse squeezing your chest cavity, constricting your throat to the point where you’re gasping for air because you _killed_ someone. _You took a life._

You, of course, found this out the hard way.

Panting, you sink to the ground, gun having just clattered to the ground beside you. The clank a gavel, adjourning this case where you were judge, jury and executioner. A court session where you had made the wrong fucking decision.

Your body began to wrack with sobs, and you raised your hand to cover your mouth; some irrational part of you was fearful that some deputy would come bursting around the corner, gun in hand, before locking you up. For murder.

Alas, no one came. And that was almost worse. You had taken a life, the most cardinal sin, and you were now going to get away with it. You pulled your hand away from your mouth, and saw that it was splattered in blood. His blood. The same crimson that was now pooling beneath his cold, lifeless body.

You hugged your knees to your chest. And began to rock, eyes unfocused. Because what was in front of you didn’t matter. The body beside you did. Its glassy eyes gazing, unblinking at you. Mocking you. Because every time you closed your eyes, it repeated over and over in your head. Again, and again.

His fangs elongated from his lips, a blood lust in his orange eyes.

God, he was just a kid. An experiment. It wasn’t his fault.

And yet, you still killed him.

And there it was again. You, the bullet and him. His head snapping back, his body crumpling in on itself. And you, just… standing there.

All this time, stopping the monsters invading Beacon Hills, never once did you think the beast would rear its ugly head from within.

***

You weren’t aware of how long you were sitting there. All you knew was that it was beginning to get cold in the tunnels, yet you didn’t once move to rub your arms in an attempt to ward off the goosebumps dancing over your skin. After all, you deserved it. You deserved everything you had coming. Murderer.

His blood had now reached your shoes, staining the rubber soles red. And you nearly lost it again.

“Y/N? Where are you? I’ve been looking for you everywhere, I had to track your phone.” It was Stiles.

Thank God. You had feared that Scott would be the one to find you. And then he would shun you, like he had done to Stiles. You then dared to let yourself think that maybe you would be alright, that maybe, just maybe… Stiles would understand.

“Y/N? Holy shit!” He exclaimed upon setting his sights on the scene before you.

“Y/N?” This time it came out quiet, cautious as he saw the broken expression on your face. He squatted down in front of you, hands rubbing along the sides of your arms.

“Shit, you’re freezing.”

Then it all came tumbling out in a stream of sobs.

“I… I didn’t mean to. He was just… there. And he was coming toward me, and I-I just shot him, Stiles. I killed him because I was too afraid to die. Stiles… you can’t. You can’t tell Scott. You can’t-” you stuttered out.

“Hey, hey, hey it’s okay. I’m not going to tell Scott.” He reassured you.

Your hands were still shaking relentlessly. They just wouldn’t stop. They couldn’t.

He gently cupped your face. “Hey, hey.” He made eye-contact with you, “It’s all going to be okay.” You were then pulled into his warm embrace, and you started to sob again.

“Please forgive me, Stiles. I-” you cried into his shoulder.

“Of course I forgive you. You wanna know why? It’s not your fault. It was just self-defence. And I know that it doesn’t make it any easier, but it wasn’t your fault.” He pulled away from the hug, and smiled weakly at you. All you did was stare dumbly, and nod, a numb spreading through your veins.

“Now come on, let’s get you home.” He pulled you up, eyes still on you, concerned.

“But what about?” You gestured to the boy, the word body catching in your throat, choking you with guilt once again.

“It’s fine. Parrish will take care of it. We should probably get out of here before he turns up.” He grabbed your hand, and pulled you with him to his jeep.

***

The whole ride back to his house, you had remained silent, your eyes fixated on a non-existent spot in the distance; the gunshot sounding over, and over, and over again. A looped, limitless limbo.

You stood in his shower, staring as the blood swirled down the drain.

It is true, what they say. That blood is thicker than water. You could still feel its taint clinging to your skin, even after you had stood under the pelting water for quite some time - you weren’t quite sure exactly how long you had been standing beneath the stream, but it was long enough for your fingers to prune up.

You hissed slightly as you wrapped the towel around your raw, reddening skin. You had set the temperature to the highest possible setting to try and thaw the numbing cold in your chest. You regretted it now.

Walking out of the ensuite bathroom your eyes fell on him. Stiles. He was still here for you despite everything. He was perfect, and God, did you not deserve him.

“I… er put these in the dryer for you. I know you like warm clothes after a shower.” He smiled softly, handing you a pair of his sweats and your favourite hoodie of his. They wholly engulfed you, but you still loved wearing them. You always felt safe, and you needed that now more than ever. 

“Thank you.” The first coherent words to leave your lips since the… incident.

As soon as you were donned in his clothes, he immediately pulled you tightly against his firm chest, and you had never felt safer.

And there, in his clothes, in his arms with his distinct smell surrounding you. You felt entirely warm, and as content as you could be given your current predicament. After all, you were home. And you knew that in his arms, you had the strength to journey the path to your own redemption.


End file.
